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APPENDIX

(NOTES, DOCUMENTATION, SELECTED TEXTS IN ENGLISH TRANSLATION)

THE UNSUNG SAGA

1. From: "Selected Hungarian Legends" F. B. Kovacs ed., transl. by E. Wass de Czege, Danubian Press, Astor Park, 1971.

CHAPTER 1

1. Prof. Gy. Laszlo: "A Kettos Honfoglalasrol" ("The two Conquests"), "Archeologiai Ertesito"’, 97, pp.161-190; Prof. P. Liptak: "Origin and development of the Hungarian People", "Homo" XXI (4), pp. 197-210.

CHAPTER 4

1. Recent historical research throws a different light upon this covenant. It seems that the Hungarian tribal federation was led, in the IXth century, by a (nominal) head of state, the "kende", who shared his rule with the military commander, the "gyula" (or "horka"). At the time of the Settlement the "kende" was Kurszan (Kusid or Kursan), and the "gyula" was Almos, then his son, Arpad, who planned and conducted the military operations of the conquest. "Kende" Kurszan was killed during a raid in 904 and "gyula" Arpad became the sole ruler of the new nation. After having secured the succession for his son (Solt or Zoltan’), he conferred the office of the "gyula" on another tribal chief. (Cf. the "Gyula" mentioned in chapters 4, 5 and 14). The "Blood Treaty" may have been fully or partly invented by the medieval chroniclers in order to justify the succession of the Arpad dynasty.

CHAPTER 6

1. Yonder lies a round, black (I) sward. An enchanted stag grazes on it. His marvelous head carries a thousand antlers. On the thousand antlers a thousand mass-candles burn without being lit – and they go out by themselves.

My hiding place is the old law,

hola, I hide in songs!

(Recorded in Zala county, Transdanubia).

Get up father, get up mother, the Ancient Ones have come.

My hiding place is the old law, I hide in songs!

(Recorded in Udvarhely county, Transylvania).

Stork, stork, turtle-dove,

Why are your feet bleeding?

Turkish children cut them,

Magyar children heal them,

With pipes, drums, and reed violins .

Tall is the ‘ruta" tree – leaning over the great sea.

Fair Ilona Magyar wears – a crown of pearls

In her golden-silky hair .

(Recorded in Nyitra county, Northern Hungary).

CHAPTER 7

Sandor Petofi: (In Hungarian:)

Szeptember végén

Még nyílnak a völgyben a kerti virágok,

Meg zöldel a nyírfa az ablak alatt,

De latod amottan a téli világot?

Már hó el takará a bérci tetôt.

Meg ifju szivemben a lángsugaru nyár

S meg benne virít az egesz kikelet,

De íme, sötét hajam ôszbe vegyül már,

A tel dere már megüté fejemet.

Elhull a virág, eliramlik az élet…

Ülj, hitvesem, ülj az ölembe ide!

Ki most fejedet keblemre tevéd le,

Holnap nem omolsz-e slrom fölibe?

Oh mondd: ha elöbb halok el, tetemimre

Könnyezve boritasz-e szemfödelet?

S rábírhat-e majdan egy ifjú szerelme,

Hogy elhagyod érte az én nevemet?

Ha eldobod egykor az özvegyi fátyolt,

Fejfámra sötét lobogóul akaszd,

En felfövök érte a síri világból

Az éj kösepén oda leviszem azt,

Letörleni vele konnyüimet érted,

Ki könnyedén elfeleded hívedet,

S e szív sebeit bekötözni, ki téged

Meg akkor is, ott is, örökre szeret!

(In English:) At the End of September

Garden flowers still bloom in the valley;

The poplar is still verdant at the window;

But can you see the winter world over there?

Already the peaks are covered with snow.

My young heart is still filled with summer rays

And within it the whole springtime in blossom.

But lo, my dark hair is flecked with grey

And my head has been struck with winter’s frost.

The flower drops and past life races…

Sit, my wife, sit here on my lap now!

Will you, who on my breast her head places,

Not bend over my grave tomorrow?

0, tell me, if I die before you,

Will you cover my body with a shroud - weeping?

And will love of a youth sometime cause you

To abandon my name for his keeping?

If one time you cast oft your widow’s veil,

Let it hang from my headstone, a banner!

I will come up from the world of the grave

In the dead of the night and take it with me

To wipe from my face the tears shed for you,

Who has lightly forgotten her devotee,

And to bind the wound in the heart of one,

Who still then in that place, loves you forever.

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

Endre Ady:(In Hungarian): A föl-földobott kô"

Föl-földobott kô, földedre hullva,

Kicsi országom újra meg újra

Hazajön fiad.

Messze tornyokat látogat sorba,

Szédül,elbúsong s lehull a porba,

Amelyböl vétetett.

Mindig elvágyik s nem menekülhet,

Magyar vágyakkal, melyek elülnek

S fölhorgadnak megint.

Tied vagyok én nagy haragomban,

Nagy hûtlenségben, szerelmes gondban

Szomorúan magyar.

Föl-földobott kô, bús akaratlan,

Kisci országom, példás alakban

Te orcádra ütök.

És, jaj, hiába mindenha szándék;

Százszor földobnál, én visszaszálnék

Százszor is, végül is.

(In English): The Outcast Stone

The stone cast up into the air comes down to earth;

Again and again your son will return,

To you, my little land.

He visits distant towers one by one and then

Reels crestfallen and drops into the dust again,

From which you toss him up.

Always breaking loose, he cannot get away,

With his Magyar cravings which die down?

Only to take hold of him again.

I am yours in great anger and defection,

In unfaithfulness, unfortunately Magyar

Weighed down by thoughts of love.

A stone driven upwards unwittingly,

By way of example, my small country,

I fall back onto you.

And whatever the intention, it’s all in vain

For though I am tossed away a hundred times,

I will alight until the last.

(Transl. by Paul Desney).

Attila József:(In Hungarian):

Születésnapomra

Harminckét éves lettem én -

meglepetés e költemény

csecse

becse:

ajándék mellyel meglepem

e kávéházi szegleten

magam

magam.

Harminckét évem elszelelt

s még havi kétszáz sose telt

Az ám,

Hazám!

Lehettem volna oktató,

nem ily töltôtoll-koptató

szegény

legény

De nem lettem, mert Szegeden

eltanácsolt az egyetem

fura

ura.

Intelme gyorsan, nyersen ért

a "Nincsen apám" versemért,

a hont

kivont

szabályával óvta ellenem

Ideidézi szellemem

hevét

s nevet:

"Ön, amIg szóból értek én,

nem lesz tanár e földtekén" -

gagyog

s ragyog.

Ha örül Horger Antal úr,

hogy költônk nem nyelvtant tanúl

sekély

e kéj -

Én egésznépemet fogom

nem középiskolás fokon

tani-

tani!

(In English): For my Birthday

I am thirty-two, how nice:

this poem is a fine surprise,

a bric -

a brac.

A gift to surprise now in jingle

in thIs lonely cafe ingle

my self

myself.

My thirty-two years went away

without earning a decent pay.

How grand,

Homeland!

I could have been a teacher then

not one who lives by fountain-pen

as I,

poor guy.

But so happened at Szeged town

the Varsity boss sent me down,

funny

man he!

His warning roughly, rudely came,

for my "I have no God" poem

his hand

the land

defended boldly and with rage.

I quote herewith for future age his theme and name:

"As long as I have here:

a say you won’t be a teacher" – turned away

muttered,

stuttered.

Should Mr. Horger gloat with glee

that grammatics is not for me,

his bliss

dismiss.

For my words the entire nation

beyond high school education -

will reach

to teach.

(Transl. by Egon Kunz).

CHAPTER 12

Though they stoke the fire,

Still it dies away;

There is not that love

Which does not pass away.

Love, oh love, oh love,

Accursed misery,

Why do you not flower

On the leaves of every tree?

(Northern Hungary. Transl. by Paul Desney)

Soft spring winds are waters wooing,

My flower, my darling.

Birds are choosing, mates

My flower, my darling.

Whom shall I choose then

My flower, my darling.

You choose me and I choose you, Dear,

My flower, my darling.

(Moldavia, a Csango-Szekely song. Transl. by J. C. Toth)

Gazing round the battlefield of Doberdo,

I admire the starry heaven’s wonder bow;

Starry heavens, lead me to my Magyar country,

Show me where my darling mother weeps for me!

Dearest mother, wonder where my end shall be?

Where my crimson blood shall flow away from me?

In the heart of Poland you will find me buried;

Dearest mother, never, never weep for me!

(Bekes county, Southern Hungary, Transl. by J. C. Toth).

The bird is free to fly

From branch to branch,

But I am not allowed

To visit my beloved.

God bless, oh bless my Lord

The house of my beloved,

But strike God, strike

Those who live in it.

Not even all of those,

But only her mother;

Why has she not given

Me her only daughter?

if she is her daughter,

My lover is she too;

if she is dear to her,

Dearer is she to me.

(Transylvania. Transl. by Paul Desney).

I have left my lovely homeland!

Left a famous little old land;

Sadly I turned once more to see

Through my falling tears its beauty.

Bitter food and bitter my days!

On and on their bitter tang stays;

Tearfully I gaze at the sky,

Numbering the stars as they die.

(Bekes county, Southern Hungary. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

Rain is falling, softly gently falling,

Spring will soon be coming; How I wish I were a rose bud,

In your garden blooming!

Rose, my Dear, I cannot be,

Franz Joseph is with’ring me

in his famous great Vienna barracks

Boasting of three stories!

(Bekes county, Southern Hungary. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

I shall plow the king’s court with my sighs;

Sow it with my country’s bitter cries;

Let him see and know, the great emp’ror!

What grows in the heart of his Magyar.

Sorrow grows in it from sorrow’s seeds;

Wounded is the Magyar heart, it bleeds;

Take, 0 Lord, the king and emperor!

Let him not oppress his poor Magyar!

(Gomor county, Northern Hungary. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

Jolly hussar, jolly hussar, jolly when he’s dancing;

Jingling saber jingling saber, jingling as he’s prancing;

Jingling, jingling, go on jingling, click your, click your spurs too!

Louis Kossuth’s listing crew is making music rouse you.

(Veszprem county, Western Hungary. An 1848 song. Transl. by J.C Toth).

There where I am passing, even trees are weeping.

From their tender branches golden leaves are falling.

Weeps the road before me, grieves the path forlornly;

Even they are saying: Farewell, God be with thee.

(Csik county, Szekely district. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

I’m a goin’, goin’, far away a goin’,

From the dust of roamin’, I’ve a mantle formin’!

All my grief and sorrow, sadly twine around it,

While my falling tears drop buttons shining on it.

(Csik county, Szekely district. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

Leaves and branches make a forest;

Grief and sorrow mould the heart best;

Grief and sorrow, like a light breeze,

Where I go they follow with ease.

Gleaming sun is on the meadow

Shines on ev'ry maiden’s window;

Tell me, 0 Lord: why not on mine?

Why does mine not see the sunshine?

(Bukovina, a Csango-Szekely song. Transl. by I. C. Toth).

How I wish I were a morning star-beam!

I would shine on you, my dear, when you dream;

I would shine on you early, right early;

One last kiss, I’d ask you then to give me.

(Great Plain. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

Fragrant are the woods when they are green!

Lovely when the wild dove’s nest is seen!

Like a dove a maiden longs to be

Close beside her lover constantly!

I am not to blame for being sad!

Only Mother is, for if she had

Given me to my own chosen love,

I would be as happy as a dove!

(Nyitra county, Northern Hungary. Transl. by J. C. Toth)

Leaving with the waning of the morning star,

My dear love is walking to her home afar.

Shining boots are gleaming on her pretty feet;

Glowing starlight beams up on my little sweet.

This I wish for you my dearest, ev’ry day:

Lush green meadow, turn to roses on your way.

Fresh green grass too, rosy apples for you grow;

And your heart will never forget I love you so!

(Bekes county, Great Plain. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

Lovely leaves and branches make a citron tree!

Dearest heart, how can they part us, you and me?

Like the star when parted from its shining beams,

So shall I be parted from my sweetest dreams.

(Bukovina, a Szekely-Csango song. Transl. by J.C. Toth).

Cricket lad is marrying Lord Mosquito’s daughter,

Slipping, slopping is the louse, best man should be smarter;

Jerking, jumping up the flea, best man, too; pretending;

Ev’ry kind of ugly bug wants to be attending.

(Tolna county, Transdanubia: humour. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

Rugged rock a-looming, roses on it blooming:

Love is such a splendid thing!

Love is but a dream though, if you’ve never known its glow;

0 how sad if it is so!

(Nyitra county, Northern Hungary. Transl. by J. C. Toth).

CHAPTER 14

Cf. Vopiscus: "Vita Aureliani" 39:(Aurelianus)"... provinciam Daciam a Traiano constitutam sublato exercitu et provincialibus reliquit. . ." Also: Eutropias IX. ". . . abductosque Romanos ex urbibus et agris Daciae. . ." These and other contemporary Roman and Greek historians state that emperor Aurelianus evacuated the entire Roman population both from the towns and rural areas of Dacia.

According to F. J. Suizer (Geschichte Daciens, Vienna, (1781) and E. R. Rosler (Rumanusche Studien; Leipzig, 1871), the original home of the Vlach (Wallachian, Rumanian) people was in the south of the Balkan peninsula (between Albania, Greece and Bulgaria). After the IXth century these nomadic herdsmen moved to the north and north–east. One branch crossed the lower Danube and moved into the Wallachian Plain (between the Carpathians and the lower Danube). A Byzantian source (Anna Comnena) mentions them here first in the XIth century. From here some of them crossed the Transylvanian mountains into Hungary. A Hungarian document from. 1224 mentions first the presence of some Viach shepherds in the Fogaras district (south-western Transylvania). (Cf. Zathureczky: Transylvania. Anderson Research Center, University of Florida, 1963).

According to the Rumanian linguist Cihac, the vocabulary of the Rumanian language contains 45.7% words of Slavonic origin and only 31.5% of Latin origin.

That’s how the Hungarians sow

Their oats. very slowly!

That’s how the Hungarians reap

Their oats very slowly!

That’s how the wife

Steals the oats, steals the oats!

That’s how the wife

Drinks its price, drinks its price!

It is time to go And to get married.

The question is only Whom should I marry?

If I marry a town girl,

She can’t spin, weave,

I’ll have to buy my

Pantaloons myself.

If I marry an old one

She’ll be always sullen,

And whenever she’ll speak,

it’ll be like thunder.

Only one hope I have

To keep me going,

I’ll remain a bachelor,

Forever, perhaps . .

(Extracts)


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